


I will follow you into the dark.

by Trashforstuckyandgot



Series: Their Songs of Fire And Blood [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Everything is Beautiful and Everything Hurts, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gay, House Targaryen, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sad and Beautiful, Sad and Sweet, Tags Are Hard, Tags May Change, Targaryen Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-10 04:03:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21469870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trashforstuckyandgot/pseuds/Trashforstuckyandgot
Summary: He was eight-and-ten when he told his father and mother that he was breaking his betrothal.
Relationships: Betha Blackwood/Aegon V Targaryen, Daeron Targaryen & Olenna Tyrell, Jaehaerys II Targaryen/Shaera Targaryen, Jenny of Oldstones/Duncan Targaryen, Jeremy Norridge/Daeron Targaryen, Ormund Baratheon/Rhaelle Targaryen
Series: Their Songs of Fire And Blood [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1338598
Comments: 4
Kudos: 90





	I will follow you into the dark.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, this is another drabble I wrote a long time ago and decided to post. This is about Jeremy Norridge and Duncan "the small" Targaryen. I hope you'll like it. 
> 
> Don't forget to leave a kudos if you did enjoy it and please leave a comment down below. <3

He was a boy of ten when they first met, squiring together for the Lord of Highgarden. 

“You are a Targaryen,” the brown-haired boy said in awe. Daeron thought it a bit humorous.  _ It is hard not to be one, when your hair is cloth-of-silver with spun gold and the eyes are a laughing sort of purple. At least on this side of the sea. _

“Yes,” the Targaryen princeling confessed, a slight flush coloring his cheeks. “I am, but that is not important.” 

“Of course it’s important,” the boy breathed. “You are the blood of the dragon, of Valyria of old.” 

“And of the Riverlands, the first men, the Rhoynar and so on it goes.” For once, Daeron simply wished to be treated the same as all the other boys, who were the sons of lords and ladies, not kings and queens with a renowned heritage. _ I want people to stop feeling as if they must dance on a fragile line around me, as if they have to please and lick my arse because they want to curry some sort of favor with father. _ The young Targaryen prince was weary of nothing being real. It was all a facade. It was his name they saw, not the person beneath. 

“What is your name?” Daeron asked, instead. 

“Jeremy,” the boy smiled, showing perfect, white teeth. “Norridge.” The pale princeling eyed the eager Jeremy and nodded.  _ The son of some minor, vassal house.  _

“And I am Daeron.” He did not need to say his last name. 

“I am sure Lord Tyrell wants his wine poured,” Jeremy said after their silence grew strained. 

“Yes,” he agreed. “I think so too.” 

***

Daeron realised that he felt something other than a friendly affection for his fellow squire, a year’s turn after their first meeting. 

When he looked at Jeremy, he saw autumn. Falling leaves in all the shades of red, yellow and brown. He felt the cool, crisp air of dawn and the bright horizon, full of promise. Daeron would look at those blue eyes and see the ocean beneath, how they seemed cold at first glance but exuded heat. 

But it was wrong, he knew.  _ Jeremy is a man, it is Olenna whose gaze you should appreciate. Her delicate lips, not Jeremy’s hair that curls at the ends. _ What the realm thought of men who liked men, was not overly endearing. He knew the crude names that they were called, the mockery made. _ Sword swallower, _ he’d heard his uncle Aerion say once, of a lord-- the words were coated with such a mocking tone and a look of disgust. Daeron did not like the sound of those words, how crude and bitter they felt, resting upon his tongue. 

Yet, the prince could not will his thoughts away, however much he tried or how many maids and serving girls he attempted to kiss. Daeron tried to stuff his urges down, deep and dark and underneath, where they could not hurt him any longer. Where they would remain buried for all time. Though the prince could not force his mind to keep quiet, whenever Jeremy would smile prettily. Oh, how he wished to wrap his arms around the boy and never let go. 

Prince Daeron appreciated women the way he appreciated art. Some were beautiful, some intriguing and strange, some were mean and cruel, others kind and gentle, sweet of nature. However, they never stirred anything deep within his heart.  _ Not the way Jeremy does. _

With men, it was different and… Hadn’t he always known?

But it could never be. 

The world would not allow for it so. 

***

They kissed for the first time at thirteen. 

“It is just practice,” Jeremy shrugged, his blue eyes ethereal in the dim light of the prince’s chambers. 

“Yes,” Daeron breathed, licking his lips, “Just practice.” 

“The girls do it too, Perianne told me,” Jeremy confided, as if that would be the confirmation they needed. To cross that invisible line in their companionship. “Why should we be any different?” 

“You’re right,” the prince replied, his light purple eyes, meeting his fellow squire’s of the sky. 

Then, Jeremy’s lips were on his. Soft and sweet.  _ I love you, _ Daeron thought but did not speak it. Speaking would make it real and it all felt a dream.  _ A beautiful one. _ The Targaryen prince wished to bundle the moment up and keep it close to his heart. Without knowing, he cupped the squire’s brown hair, running his hands through it gently, time upon time. Soft sighs and secret love echoed in that bedchamber and time seemed to stand still. Until a brusque knock was heard on the door, making the two boys jump apart, as if scalded, both breathing hard. 

“Get your arses out in the courtyard,” the voice of their Master at Arms growled. “You are already late for your lessons. I will not come and find you again.”

“Yes, Ser,” Daeron called and tried not to sound as breathless as he was. _ Fuck. _ No reply was heard from beyond that wooden door. Jeremy seemed paler when the prince turned his eyes upon him. So unlike the confident, carefree boy that he was. 

“We should go,” Daeron said, not looking into his friend’s eyes. 

“Yes,” Jeremy replied, not missing a beat. “They are waiting.” 

Something changed between them, in that moment. Daeron Targaryen could not help but wish that they’d not crossed that invisible line betwixt them. _ _

_ Forgive me, please, _ the prince begged the Gods,  _ but I love him.  _

***

After their first kiss, two years passed and the men did not so much as touch each other if not necessary. Jeremy would wish to be alone with the prince at times, but Daeron always claimed he was busy, fatigued or weary. They were always surrounded by people anyway, comely young ladies searching for favor or a prince’s bastard in their bellies. 

As the years droned on, so did their appearances change. Both Daeron and Jeremy grew from thin, gangly boys into hard, lean and tall men with broad shoulders and a warrior’s spirit. Smiles and smirks came easy to them, most of all; Jeremy Norridge. Their friendship remained fierce but felt so fragile on the occasion, that it seemed as if a gust of wind could blow it away. They never spoke of anything but light matters, of women and their bodies. Even though Prince Daeron did not mean a word, when he mentioned Lady Olenna’s cleavage, Perianne’s teasing smile and soft skin, or how a kitchen-girl had allowed him to fondle her breasts and put his hand up her skirt.

They behaved in all the ways a man was expected to behave, but the prince’s heart was plagued with uncertainty and a tragic love that could never be. Jeremy would take serving wenches into his lap, a broad smile on his handsome face. He’d laugh and fondle them, whispering wickedly into their ears and it only proved to make Daeron wearier, so he oft excused himself and retired to bed early. _ I should not be so irked, he is a man. I do the same on the occasion, to keep up pretenses, _ the prince had thought on yet another night that he laid in his bed, unable to sleep. 

If he closed his eyes, all he saw was Jeremy’s face and it did him no kindness when he woke. 

Daeron knew that there were rich lords and fat old men, mayhaps even comely and young ones that preferred boys. There were many famous courtesans that were male and sought after by other ones. Yet… the prince could not see himself belonging to that certain group of men. Jeremy was his age, tall, strong and every inch a man. He smelled of soap, lemons and entirely himself-- not flowers or expensive perfumes.  _ I never had to buy his companionship, he gave it to me freely. _ But perhaps the Norridge did not fancy the prince in the way that men fancied women.  _ Maybe all that kiss was intended for; was practice. Just as Jeremy said. _ The thought that he had unduly withdrawn from his most favorable partner because of a misunderstanding, frightened and did much to sadden the prince. 

Daeron did not know what hurt more. Jeremy loving him, or Jeremy not loving him.

***

Two moons after his sixteenth nameday, Daeron was knighted alongside Jeremy by the Lord of Highgarden. Lady Olenna came to watch, blushing prettily when the newly-made knight and prince complimented her green dress, embroidered with scarlet grapes.  _ She is pretty, _ he could not dispute. _ With her long, brown hair and green eyes that sparkle in the sun. _ But they were not the kind he wanted. The prince only saw blue stars when he closed his eyes. 

That eve, after the large feast, Daeron stumbled into his chambers, pleasantly drunk. He almost tripped and had to steady him on a piece of furnishing. Jeremy was there, sitting in the prince’s bed and looking at his clasped hands.  _ Fuck, _ the prince thought.  _ How can someone be so beautiful? It is not fair. _ The way the knight’s hair glimmered like burnished bronze in the candlelight. How his dark eyelashes touched the top of his cheeks, the top lip that was just as full as the bottom one.  _ The line of that jaw could send many and more to their graves.  _

“Jeremy,” Daeron breathed, clearing his throat. “Wh-w-what are you doing here?” 

The brown-haired knight was not drunk, only slightly tipsy, his light swaying as he rose bore proof of that. 

“You’ve been avoiding me,” the Norridge said, looking melancholy. The prince looked away, so that he would not have to gaze at that comely face or the body which evoked the most sinful thoughts, ones that would make even a whore blush. 

“No,” Daeron replied in a mumble, feeling his cheeks heat up. “I have not.” 

“You have,” Jeremy insisted, his blue eyes wide and desperate, “For years.” 

“I see you every day,” the prince said, the serious air of the room, sobering him up. Yet he would still not look upon his companion’s face. 

“You see me but you are not  _ there _ ,” the knight exclaimed, running a hand through his hair. “What did I do?” Daeron shook his head. 

“You did not do anything. We are still the same.” 

“No,” Jeremy said, his voice hoarse with emotion. “Something changed between us. I know it.” 

“We grew from boys into men. Things were bound to change.” 

“Why do you dislike me? What did I do? Please tell me how to make it right. I cannot live with this cold demeanor, the cool facade.”  _ I made him this sad, _ the prince thought. _ Forgive me, Jeremy.  _

“You did not do anything,” the prince shook his head again, his purple eyes fixed on the tiles of the floors. 

Suddenly, Jeremy Norridge was in front of him. They were almost of a height but Daeron stood taller at one or so inches. 

“Have I lost your affection for me?” the knight asked, with eyes as blue as turquoise sea.  _ They shift in colors. Sometimes they’re dark and ominous. On other occasions, they’re gentle and guileless.  _

“You have too much of it,” Daeron whispered, swallowing hard, “And that simply  _ cannot  _ be.” A silence erupted and hung between them, like a dark, heavy shadow that left no one alive. Ser Jeremy looked so very sad and the prince imagined that he, himself, looked torn. Torn between love and what others would deem prudent.  _ You will be dutiful and wed Olenna, she is not so bad. You will make father and mother proud. _

Then, warm arms wrapped around the Targaryen prince, in the secrecy and safety of his chambers. He was too drunk to try to act like the man everyone thought him to be.

“I love you,” That made Daeron smile against the knight’s hair.  _ He smells like apples and lemon-grass. _ “And I know that I can never have your hand, but I’ll settle for a piece of your heart. You are my daylight, nothing could ever compare.” The words were choked with a love that could never be-- Clouded with bleeding hearts and sad minds. 

“I-” Daeron began but faltered. He did not know what words to speak, whether he should follow his mind or his heart. 

“Don’t speak,” the knight said, disembarking from their embrace and looking into the prince’s light purple eyes. “Even if I don’t have your love back, it is enough for me to simply have you. Let me serve you, I  _ can  _ settle, please,” Jeremy whispered, biting his lip. Daeron looked at his companion, the straight nose, full lips and sharp line of his jaw.  _ How could he not have my love? He is kind, dutiful, lovely, humorous and beautiful. How can he not see?  _

The prince chewed on his bottom lip, not quite knowing how to respond. _ Father will be disappointed, mother will weep. Uncle Aerion will taunt me. _ He wondered what his siblings would say, were they to know what sort of a man he was and the sinful thoughts that lived within him.  _ Duncan would most like shrug his shoulders and Jaehaerys would surely say naught of it. Shaera would wish to talk of boys with me and Rhaelle is too young and innocent to know the cruel machinations of the world. _ The problem laid not with his brothers and sisters, but with the world. _ Is it really so different? _ A voice in his head asked.  _ Your family fucks their siblings, for the Gods’ sakes! You are the blood of the dragon and the dragon does as he pleases. It is not for men to judge.  _

“It is not for men to judge,” Daeron found himself repeating the thought in his head. 

“No...” Jeremy agreed, gazing at the Targaryen prince queerly. “It is not.” A few moments ticked by but it felt like an eternity, as if time stood still inside that dreadful chamber with the draughty windows. Finally, the prince decided that he’d had enough.  _ Fuck it, fuck them all. _ So, he cupped Jeremy’s face and kissed him like he was a drowning man and the Knight of Norridge was air and shelter. 

Jeremy smiled boyishly through the kiss and his hands were all over Daeron’s body, unbuttoning the doublet, unveiling the smooth, alabaster skin of most Targaryens. 

“I love you,” Daeron breathed through their rushed kisses and removed his companion’s tunic and the knight had a darker complexion than him, more sandy beige than ivory but it looked so right. 

“I’ve loved you since the moment your humble arse said that being a Targaryen did not matter.” Jeremy pushed Daeron down on the soft featherbed, kissing and nibbling on his neck. 

“It does not,” the prince insisted weakly, peering at Ser Norridge through dark lashes. The brown-haired man hummed and began kissing down the length of Daeron’s chest, down to his heaving stomach, showing the rippling muscles that years of swordplay and hard labor had gifted him with. 

“It should not,” Jeremy began, the prince’s hands in his chestnut hair, growing ever more crazed the lower the knight kissed, “But then you should ask whether it is your cock that makes Lady Olenna moisten her smallclothes, or you giving her princes and princesses with silver-gold hair and purple eyes. No one is without their agenda, my sweetest fool of a prince.” Daeron sat up at that, having sobered up from the wine as best as he could and gazed at Jeremy with grimness.

“I know that  _ most  _ of all. Having to look at each of my companions and wonder which one is real. What smile is false and who tattles on me to their Lord father. It is  _ hard  _ being a prince, a third-born at that. No one sees you as  _ anything  _ else but a piece of meat with dragon’s blood that they want to sink their teeth into.” 

Those blue eyes full of endless swirls and intricacies peered up at him with a warming softness. 

“I know,” Jeremy said, touching Daeron’s cheek, “I know.” 

“But that begs the question; what is your agenda?” He hated himself for asking the question but all that talk of falsehoods and ambitions had made him wary.  _ Yet what is it I can get him? His head on a spike for fornication? There is no favor to be found in this relationship. I am a prince of the blood, he is a knight of a lesser house-- his will be the head they take, not mine. _ The thoughts made the prince melancholy, he did not wish to picture the man he loved dead. 

“You,” the knight said so softly, “Daeron of house Targaryen is my agenda. I want you and only you. But I cannot have you to wed and father children with, so I settle for these hushed kisses and caresses, because in love: compromises must be made. And I’ll make them  _ all  _ for you; I’ll give my life, if need be. It would not be so great a cost, for having known and loved such a great man. That’s who you are to me; Daeron, not  _ Prince  _ Daeron, son of King Aegon V. You are my Daeron and will always be.” 

“My poet,” the prince smiled fondly, turning to push Jeremy down on the bed. “You’ll have to stop, lest you make me weep.” 

“I thought the dragon does not weep,” the knight asked, biting his lower lip, the black pupils almost eclipsing the blue of his eyes. 

“It can. For you.” 

“When was it that we turned this sappy?” Jeremy asked with a tender smile, Daeron’s face hovering inches above his. 

“I don’t know,” the prince confessed, chuckling slightly but it turned into something else entirely, when the knight began deftly stroking him through his breeches.

After a few moments of Daeron’s soft panting and groans in the back of his throat, because he daren’t be too loud, lest anyone hear-- When Jeremy pushed him on his back and straddled him, leaning down to kiss him with such a passion that he was sure it could make the Mother weep, Daeron came to a realisation. 

_ How can I wed Olenna, when I have this?  _

_ How can I wed and pretend to love her, when every night I would be seeing Jeremy’s face?  _

_ How could I stand seeing him in the arms of some woman, knowing that it should be me?  _

_ How can I father children and pretend as if that would be the life I’d wish to lead?  _

_ How can I settle for a mere rabbit, when I have tasted the honeyed lamb?  _

_ How, how, how?  _

***

He was eight-and-ten when he told his father and mother that he was breaking his betrothal. 

“Duncan and Jaehaerys broke theirs, I will  _ not  _ wed someone that my heart bears no love for.” King Aegon pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled loudly, whilst Queen Betha walked toward her son with worry etched into the creases of her forehead. 

“It is not about love, my sweet. She is a good and kind woman, who will love you and bear you children of your own. You will learn to love her, I promise.” 

“I do not want children, mother, and I will not settle. I’ve settled all my life, no more.”

“You cannot,” King Aegon finally said fervently, “Do you know the headache that Duncan, Shaera and Jaehaerys have given your mother and I? The destruction that looms in the horizon because of it? The slights handed out have not been slight, let me tell you that! We may be on the brink of serious war, if another goes-- have you no thought for your house, for your family?”

“Have you no thought for me?” Daeron snapped at his father. 

“How can you be so selfish?” the third-born Targaryen son made no reply, “Have you met some lowborn girl? Did you get a lady with child? Aegon V demanded, “Tell us what caused this sudden change of heart and we will help you, Daeron!” 

“I do not want to wed a woman!” the young prince finally exclaimed and his father looked at him incredulously. 

“Then what do you expect to wed, pray tell? A tree?” Queen Betha was eyeing the two men warily, perhaps she understood the extent of her son’s words, where her husband was blind to it.

“I. Do. Not. Want. To. Wed. A.  _ Woman _ ,” he hissed through gritted teeth and it was then, that the king seemed to understand what it was his son was saying. 

“No,” King Aegon whispered and began to pale. _ Am I such an abomination, father?  _ The prince thought, defeated. “You cannot be… Betha,” the king turned to his wife for some semblance of solace. 

“Daeron,” she murmured weakly, moving to stroke his cheek tenderly with tears in her dark eyes. “Is it him?” she asked in a whisper, “Your pretty knight, the one everyone says you’re inseparable from.”

“I am sorry mother,” the prince began, purple eyes filling with tears at the thought of having disappointed the most important woman in his life, “I did not choose to be like this.” 

“There is time still,” the king began feverishly, “We can fix this, it can be mended. Perhaps a few-”  _ Does this make me a monster, father? Must I be mended if I was never broken? _

“-No.” Queen Betha’s voice was hard as stone, “We will  _ not  _ harm our son.” Suddenly, she was no longer stroking his cheek and instead, moved to her husband; placing a comforting hand on his chest. 

“He-he cannot be, Betha. Our son is not- he cannot be a-a- a,” the king could not say the words, he could not breathe life into what his son was telling him. For speaking it, would make it real. 

“Say it, father,” the prince demanded, his voice breaking at the ends. King Aegon simply stared at him with purple eyes, much darker than his own. “Say it!” Daeron hissed, feeling cold tears trickle down his flushed cheeks. 

“You are not. This is only a fancy you picked up in your boyhood, it will be rid from you soon enough!”  _ You don’t see, father, you do not see. And if you do not see, how will you ever understand? _

“I love him the way you love mother. If you got to live happy, then why should not I?” 

“You do not love him, you are too young to know what love is! It is infatuation at best. I will personally see to it that Ser Jeremy is betrothed.” 

“How is it so absurd? You wed mother at nine-and-ten!” Daeron yelled, “We stem from a family that fucks their own siblings! Look at Jae and Shaera, they love each other, yet you deny me and call what I feel false? Why? Because Jeremy is a man with a cock instead of a woman with a cunt?” He stalked up to his father and they were of a height, his angry eyes were not the laughing sort of purple anymore. They were cold like two chips of purple ice. 

“Stop it, I am still your king and you will take care with how you speak to me!” 

“Before you are my king, you should be my father,” the prince spit. 

“Cease this foolery, you two,” Betha Blackwood pleaded, looking from her son to her husband. 

“Are you disgusted, father? Revolted, even?” Daeron asked viciously. 

“It is not natural, Daeron,” King Aegon replied, staring directly into his son’s eyes.  _ Valyrian, like his.  _

“It is not natural to fuck your sister either, but that did not stop our family. It did not stop Jaehaerys and Shaera.” That made his father clench that strong jaw and it looked as if fire would soon begin to emerge from the dark purple eyes. 

“He is still your son,” Betha said, trying to calm the king, “The one you held in your arms. The one I birthed through blood, sweat and tears. He is our sweet little babe, Aegon. His preferences make no difference, it should not.” 

“If this gets out, do you know what ridicule he will face? The absolute vitriol and scorn? We will be powerless to stop it, and you,” he pointed intently toward Daeron, “You will hear their whispers until the day you die. No one will even so much as touch you, it will be as if you have greyscale.” 

“I do not need anyone else. I only want Jeremy.” 

“You say that now,” his father sighed wearily,the initial anger seeming to wash off like the tide, “But what of it, in ten year’s time? Love can turn to resentment if the surroundings will it. Perhaps one day you’ll wake in the morn and he will be gone. Is it not better to spare yourself such a pain? Wed Lady Olenna and I can have it arranged so that he weds her sister, or something of the sort. You will still be near each other.” King Aegon was pleading now.

“And then I will die at the ripe age of sixty, cursing my own life because I never chose to live it. Because I always did what others wished me to and it passed me by without notice. I will not wed, not ever.” 

“Pl-” his father began but Daeron shushed him.

“-Nothing you say will change my mind.” Queen Betha remained silent, simply staring at the both of them, as if analyzing the severity of the interaction. 

“When?” Aegon asked instead, frowning softly, “Was it something we did? Something we could have done better? How did it end up like this, Daeron?” 

“I am not a faulty horse, father. There was nothing you did or could have done. It is simply who I am.” 

“I think we always knew, Egg. We just did not want to acknowledge it.” His mother’s voice came as a mere soft, comforting murmur. 

“No, Betha, I never…” the king faltered. 

“I suppose it is different,” the black-haired woman replied, reaching to stroke Daeron’s cheek with a gentle expression in her eyes, “When you carry something inside of you for moons on end. When you hold them to your chest and stare into their eyes, damning anything and anyone who would ever hurt that precious bundle.” 

“Do you hate me, mother?” he asked carefully, “Are you disgusted by me?”  _ I should not know what to do, would she say yes.  _

“I could never hate you, my sweet child, nor harbor any disgust. If so, I should have to despise Duncan, Shaera and Jaehaerys as well, and do you see me doing that?” she asked softly, taking a tender hand to tilt his chin downward, for his eyes to meet her dark ones. “Do you?” 

“No,” Daeron sighed and shook his head and looked down, feeling hot tears burn behind his eyelids, “I am sorry mother, for my vices.”

“It is not a vice to love, my son, so do not ever think of it as such,” Queen Betha chided her son. 

“You will not tell anyone of this,” Aegon said suddenly, gazing at his son with a queer look, “Only your siblings if you choose to, but no one else. Promise me.” 

“I promise, father,” the prince obliged and felt the strange urge to weep.  _ I do not want to be such a disappointment to you.  _

“And tell your knight to keep silent, as well. Rumors of you two may swell, but no one can feed the fire.” 

“Yes, father.” Daeron was weary of the conversation and simply wished to run into Jeremy’s arms and perhaps weep, or his mother’s and feel her comforting hold around him, keeping him steady. 

“Your father is only trying to keep you safe,” Betha murmured, embracing her son, “He loves you, do not ever doubt that and he may need time, but he will come around. I swear it on the old gods and the new.” 

*** 

They died at three-and-twenty, whilst Prince Daeron was leading an army against the rat, the hawk and the pig. They fought valiantly, nobly and honorably-- managing to crush the rebellion, yet losing their lives in the process. 

“Jer,” Daeron choked out as he felt cold steel puncture the weak spot of his armor, piercing through his side. The prince had not felt it at first and it was queer, how he simply stared at the man’s sword as it was pulled from his own body. Stumbling, Prince Daeron fell down, coughing, eerily aware of his own blood in his throat, spilling from his lips. 

It truly is a curious thing, how calm one gets as they are about to perish. The sounds of the battle dulled and a heavy blanket of tiredness enveloped him. After all, he had done his part, did he not deserve to rest? Daeron saw the man before him…  _ or is he a knight? One never knows during these things, _ raising his sword to finish the prince off but he could not care about that. Not now. 

The young silver-haired man closed his eyes and thought of his mother’s tender eyes, his father’s firm embraces. He thought of sickly Jaehaerys, who would sneak Daeron his sweets after dinner because he was never very fond of them anyway. Then his mind drifted to Duncan,  _ who father said looked a bit like Prince Baelor Breakspear. Duncan who used to tuck me into bed and read me excerpts of the conquest when I could not sleep.  _

Shaera’s smile filled his vision, her fierce spirit and lust for life. Then he thought of sweet little Rhaelle, who had to pay for all of their sins. Finally; Jeremy’s face came into view, with that easy smile and a poetic heart. The way his sweet knight would always tell him of how he loved him, as they were entangled with each other, drowsy with sleep.  _ Oh how I do love you. How I do love you all.  _

Daeron did not know if he was dead, yet if this was death… then it was not so bad at all. 

“Daeron!” a voice from beyond Shaera’s smile and his mother’s kind eyes, pleaded frantically. “Daeron!” the voice said again and hands were touching his face. With all the strength he could muster, the prince opened his purple eyes and was met with blue ones of the ocean. _ It seems I am not dead. _

“Jer,” he smiled weakly but coughed and saw how his love’s eyes widened. 

“No, stay with me Daeron, today is  _ not  _ your day. We will get you to the maester.”  _ No we won’t. You always called me your foolish prince, but now I think our roles have reversed.  _

“You look beautiful,” the prince murmured, feeling his eyes droop. Because the knight truly did, however sweaty, bloody and bruised that he was. Daeron wished to say it now, for he did not think he’d ever get another chance to. 

“I look like horseshit,” Jeremy countered, stroking his beloved’s silver-gold hair that had turned scarlet and rose with blood.

“You’re always beautiful to me.” 

He coughed again, and felt how his wound stung with the promise of death. 

“I’m sorry Jer, but I’ll just sleep for a while. Only a while.” 

“No,” the knight begged, “No,” he repeated fiercely, “You stay with me, we’ll get you to the maester’s. Your mother and father are waiting for you to come home. We  _ cannot  _ let them down.” 

“Mother and father,” Daeron slurred, closing his eyes fully because it hurt to keep them open and he had no more strength left.  _ Yes, I do think I should like to see them.  _

His mother and father and siblings would still live.

They would age and surpass him, 

But Daeron would always remain twenty-and-three. 

Then, the prince died, with the man whom he loved, hovering above, pleading for him to stay. Death does not make bargains, though, and barely ever caters to our wills. Such a young man, the prince had been. Barely old enough to call himself one.

“Fuck,” Jeremy cried, shaking his prince but garnering no response. _ He is gone, he is gone, he is gone. _ And what was he, without the man whom he loved?  _ We gave up everything for each other, everything. _ “He was only three-and-twenty,” the Knight of Norridge cursed the Gods, “How could you? He was a good man.” 

Perhaps it was because he was in his grief, that Ser Jeremy did not notice a man of the rebellion creeping up behind him, not until the point of the sword was sticking through his throat.  _ Daeron, Daeron, Daeron,  _ was all he could think of, because trying to speak did him no good. 

He fell down on his stomach, next to the prince he loved, who was already gone. 

It was a quick death, a swift one, not the kind that Daeron had to suffer. 

At least they died as they had lived. 

Together. 

**Author's Note:**

> That was that, sorry for the ending (that was angsty as fuck) And excuse me while I go and cry in a corner because they were 23 when they died and deserved the fucking world, in this essay I will--
> 
> Don't forget to leave a kudos and a comment if you enjoyed it <3 We'll see what comes next but as I've said before: My AU (on if Rhaegar won at the battle at the Trident) Pray The Sun Will Rise is the main focus atm.


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